


Clean and Fresh

by MissCora, seamusdeanforever_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 15:51:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5096363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCora/pseuds/MissCora, https://archiveofourown.org/users/seamusdeanforever_archivist/pseuds/seamusdeanforever_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seamus and Dean have been living together, which is wonderful, but Seamus is a slob which is less so. In which Seamus does a good turn for his lover and gets teased. After all, what's the point of making the bed unless it's to mess it up?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clean and Fresh

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
> 
> Author's Note: With much love to the K&G crew. I haven't forgotten about you all, I've just been busy.

"Gods! This place is a mess!" Dean's voice rang out into the apartment. "Seamus!" he yelled.

"What?" The blond poked his head around the kitchen door to gaze at his lover who'd just come back from work.

"Look at this place." Dean was clearly exasperated and gazing around the room Seamus had to admit he could see what the other man was complaining about. "There's papers everywhere, dirty dishes in piles on the floor , I can't remember when the last time you did the laundry was. Honestly, I swear, the only time this place gets cleaned is when I get too tired of living in filth!"

"That's going a bit far," Seamus put in. "I clean . . . sometimes."

Dean sighed and finally dropped the notes he'd been carrying home from work onto a pile on the table. He very carefully removed his coat and hung it up on a peg and shifted a stack of books out of a chair so he could collapse into it. "I don't have the energy for this," he said.

"I'm making dinner," Seamus began, but trailed off when he took in Dean's tired gaze. "What's up?"

"Not hungry," the black man said. "Look, I've got to go out of town this weekend, just found out about it. A man in America claims he's got some info I can use for this new project but he says it's too precious to send by owl, refuses to travel and will only discuss it in person, ruddy bastard." This last was muttered under Dean's breath but Seamus could just catch it. "I'm leaving tomorrow morning."

"Oh," Seamus moved quietly across the room and knelt down next to Dean's chair, running a hand over his love's forehead and lightly rubbing his temples. "You sure you're not hungry? I made fresh bread and we've still got some of the soup left from this weekend."

"It smells lovely but I'm just not up to food right now." Seamus scowled at this, knowing Dean's tendency to not eat when he was stressed. While he had to admit the taller man was gorgeous, he worried whenever Dean's cheekbones started to drift toward anorexic in appearance. "I'm going to go clear off the bed and lay down, try and get rid of this headache." Seamus nodded and the other man stood and made his way through the room, stepping over a pile of books and nudging the dirty laundry basket back into it's corner.

Giving a little scowl around the room the Irishman went back into the kitchen to finish making his dinner and try and come up with some way to make Dean feel better.

***

The answer really had been easy once he sat down and really thought about it. Dean was going to be gone all weekend and Seamus knew he'd be able to get some time off from the clinic if he asked nicely. Gazing around the mess he'd just made in the kitchen Seamus had decided to spend the weekend and turn their apartment back into something the more finicky man would find pleasant.

After seeing Dean off and finishing his 6-hour stint at work Seamus had apparated home and set to work. Obviously the first thing he needed to do was to organize the piles, since just looking around he really couldn't even tell where the dirty stuff ended and the floor began, nor what was really important. After gathering up the dishes from the bedroom and living room he dumped them in the sink to soak and started sticking the books back on the shelf, occasionally pausing over this title or that and remembering where they had come from.

Seamus realized he could probably use magic to do some of the simple stuff like the dishes, but doing it the hard way was kind of calming he thought and he certainly had the time.

He hauled all the laundry down to the washing machine and started sorting, stopping once or twice to smell the shirts, inhaling his lover's scent, then he hurried back up to the kitchen and scrubbed. And scrubbed. And scrubbed. Honestly, how the two of them could make so many dishes he didn't know, although he admitted that his propensity for cooking gourmet meals and not cleaning up after himself led to most of it.

And so he passed the weekend, gathering, sorting, folding, shelving and washing. He rediscovered a number of his work tools that had gotten buried, as well as the spell notes Dean had been missing two weeks prior. And as he worked Seamus thought about his life in this apartment, his life with Dean.

He would come across a book Dean had given him and think back on the Christmas they had spent with Harry, Ron, and Hermione two years ago. When he cleaned the kitchen counters he couldn't help but be amused by the burn marks on the counter from when Dean had come in and interrupted his latest culinary experiment, distracting him for most of an hour and completely ruining dinner, although neither of them could come up with the energy to care afterwards.

Finally, as he started to alphabetize their music collection, Seamus realized there really wasn't anything more he could do. The apartment was spotless, the laundry and dishes done. He'd even made the bed, which he hadn't done since going to Hogwarts where the house elves took care of that. Plus, it was only 5 o'clock and Dean wasn't coming back until 8. _Well_ , Seamus realized, _that's just enough time for me to cook . . ._

***

"Seam . . ." Dean's voice trailed off as the door thudded closed behind him and he stared, slack-jawed around the flat.

"Dean, you're back." Seamus' dirty blond head peered around the door to the kitchen, grinning that wonderful grin at him but all Dean could do was stare.

"The . . . It's . . . the apartment."

"Yes?" Seamus said, his grin turning mischievous. "What about it?"

"It's, it's _clean_!" Dean settled his eyes on his lovers face, blinking.

"Yes, Dean, I know. I cleaned it this weekend."

"You . . . you cleaned it?" Dean squeaked. "You cleaned our apartment?"

"Yes Dean," Seamus' voice held a faintly patronizing tone, as though he were explaining something to a small child but Dean didn't notice. "It was dirty, so I cleaned it."

"You . . . _you_ , Seamus Finnigan, you cleaned."

Seamus gave a sigh and ducked back into the kitchen. Dean heard a faint click as the stove was shut off and then the smaller man reappeared. "Dean, yes, I cleaned. What's your point? You said it was dirty." Seamus walked across the living room to the door where Dean was still standing. Actually, Dean admitted to himself, Seamus was clearly strutting.

"Who are you and what have you done with Seamus?" Dean asked mildly when the blond reached him.

At that Seamus grinned and reached his arms up, lacing them around his lover's neck. "I'm Seamus," he said, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Or at least you'd better hope I am because if I'm not then the real Seamus will object to my doing this." And he pulled Dean's head down for a passionate kiss that stole his breath and weakened his knees.

When Seamus finally released him Dean sucked in air and then answered, "You must be Seamus because he's the only one who can manage to be simultaneously the sexiest thing on the planet and the most adorable."

Seamus grinned at that, his beautiful pale blue eyes lighting up at the compliment. "Glad you think so," was all he said before planting another searing kiss on Dean's lips.

"Oh . . ." Dean moaned, hoisting the smaller man up into his arms and bringing them closer together. He broke the kiss and began attacking his lover's neck, causing Seamus to squirm delightfully in his arms. "Gods I've missed you," he whispered hotly into Seamus' ear.

"Missed you too," was all Seamus got out before Dean's mouth working it's was down to his collar bone stopped coherent thought for several minutes.

When he finally reclaimed the capacity for speech Seamus gasped out, "Bed, now," and Dean was happy to comply. The two of them made their way through the apartment, shedding articles of clothing and pausing every few steps for another string of kisses and endearments.

With his back to the door frame and Seamus' lips on his nipples Dean was quite insensible when they finally made it to the bedroom, but as his back arched up to offer Seamus a better angle Dean's eyes fluttered open and he caught sight of their destination. The black man choked as he saw the bed.

"What?" Seamus looked up, startled, into his lover's eyes, which were filled with mirth. "Are you ok?"

"Seamus," Dean gasped out, "you made the bed."

Seamus blinked then glanced over his shoulder at the straight and orderly king sized bed they shared, taking in the carefully smoothed covers and pillows. "So?" he asked, turning back to his love to see the tears of laughter which were leaking out Dean's eyes.

"You, Seamus. _You_ made the _bed_!" And Dean started to double over with the force of his laughter. "You _never_ make the bed. _Never_! You left the bed unmade and didn't even change the sheets the last time my parents came over. You'd left the pillows strewn on the floor from where you'd thrown them when they got in your way and . . ."

"Yes, yes," Seamus scowled as Dean continued to snicker. "I get it, I made the bed. It's funny, ha ha." But Dean couldn't seem to get over this and Seamus' put out expression didn't seem to be helping, much to the Irishman's annoyance. "Right, that does it." Launching himself at the taller man Seamus locked his lips onto Dean's and shoved him up against the wall he'd been leaning against. Seamus kissed Dean until he felt Dean's legs start to collapse out from under him then broke off, looking up into the eyes which were now glowing with the lust that had replaced the mirth. "If it's so unusual for me to have made the bed," he began in a low, sultry tone, "then we'll just have to unmake it won't we?" And he again claimed Dean's lips, this time pulling him toward the bed and falling back onto it, thoroughly determined to muss it up and not fix it again until Dean had apologized for laughing.

Although he had to admit, it did seem as though the real reason to make a bed was so that you could unmake it with someone as wonderful as the man in his arms.


End file.
